


Painful Gucci

by makingitwork



Series: Bughead Prompts [44]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Actor Jughead, Celebrity AU, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Model betty, Secret Relationships, actor betty, bughead - Freeform, famous au, fluffy fluff, meet cute, writer jughead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 18:38:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16124399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: "So, Jughead. Are the rumours true? Are you dating Betty Cooper?"She holds her breath, and watches as he ducks his head and smiles, swiping his hand through his hair. "No, sadly not," he laughs, shaking his head ruefully. "She's beautiful and talented, but we're just friends. We met by chance and she was obviously a huge fan," he teases sarcastically. Self-deprecating. Betty wonders if he knows how much he's given away. Not through his words, but at the way his face has lit up and his entire body seems more relaxed. She's probably the only person who knows him well enough to notice, and she loves that more than she can admit. "She's amazing, a real rarity in Hollywood, you know? Down to earth and grounded when she could be the complete opposite."





	Painful Gucci

**Author's Note:**

> An expand on the universe because the comments were so lovely
> 
> Enjoy!

On a warm Friday night in New York City there are many places to go where you can have your picture taken. Premiers and nightclubs, galleries and museums, parties and certain shops are where the paparazzi will station themselves. Fingers poised and just waiting. Some just want a picture, and you can hardly blame them, but others are fragmentary breakaways of the gutter press and they want you to trip so your skirt flairs up and they can call you something rude in a tabloid you'll see the next week. 

Luckily for Betty, she knows Cheryl, and Cheryl's lived in New York her whole life. Cheryl tells her all the places to go where the cameras just won't be waiting and that's how Betty finds herself somewhere between 54th Street and 42nd Avenue on a warm Friday night in New York City. It's blissfully bare, and the stars are hidden behind the lampposts and the skyscrapers, but she's not seeing anyone she recognises and the few people she does see don't seem to be interested in looking up from their phones to stare at her. It's hard not to smile at the intoxicating anonymity of it all. She stops, resting by a hydrant, to pull her heels off. Expensive, gucci and totally uncomfortable. She dumps them into her backpack, and fights the urge to laugh aloud like a maniac. Her bare feet against the smooth cobbles reminds her of being young and being back at home with Polly. She looks down at her outfit to see just how far that little girl has come. Gone are the mud and dirt streaks from rolling around in the grass and fixing up cars with her dad. Just last week she was wearing a dress that had cost over a million dollars. She can hardly reconcile it. 

But now, at least, she's comfortable. In a pair of old denim overalls, over a pink tee and her hair up in a bun. It would be a dream to think she looks messy and comfortable, but that's not how it works. Cheryl, who loves her dearly, Betty is certain, and who wants her to be happy and well-portrayed in the media, knows how to compromise. So she may be in overalls, but they're designed by one of the latest risers and her pink tee is a vintage look of a long out of circuit Vogue. She may be barefoot, but they'll probably just label her as Bohemian and enjoying New York nights. She has to smile to herself at the ludicrousness of it all. 

As a warm, late night breeze blows past her it carries the scent of food and it smells divine. Her stomach rumbles eagerly, and she follows the smell. It takes her to a shop almost embedded and hidden between two large town houses. The lights are on and it looks warm inside and she can smell the assortment of meats and vegetables and a number of rolls in the window. She's about to race across the street towards it, when the bell chimes and someone steps out. Betty's heart skips and she stare in awe. He's- handsome isn't the word. He's beautiful. And Betty has seen her fair share of male models, this guy is...dark hair and green eyes and pale skin that glints smoothly under the moon. After staring, she recognises him. She feels idiotic as soon as she does for not seeing it sooner. 

 _Jughead Jones._ She's a fan, obviously, she doesn't know anyone who isn't. She hadn't recognised him initially because gone are the iconic auburn locks that he had when he played Jerry Maguire in one of Betty's all time favourite films. And now that she does truly recognise him, she remembers reading his books. He'd first published anonymously, when he was only sixteen years old and reaching the top ten best sellers list. Betty had been obsessed. At sixteen homework and cheerleading had been her reason for existence whilst he'd been spinning the written word into a story. He's still writing now but she knows that it was the moment that revealed his face to the world that the world promptly decided that Jughead Jones had a face too good to hide behind a screen that wasn't for cinemas. The black suits him incredibly well, and she realises with a not insignificant amount of glee that he's here for the same reason she is; to be out of the spotlight. He's wearing shorts and and flip-flops, a plaid shirt that's not buttoned up and hangs fluttering on his naked torso. She can't stop her eyes from drifting down, and is half dismayed and delighted to see the light definition of muscles there. A small part of her had hoped, perhaps, that he was like those stars who only worked out during a film to bulk out, and another part of her just admires his physique. He's relaxed, at ease, and looks so different from the way he does in three piece suits on the red carpet. 

He's got a burrito in his hand, and he's chomping away at it; paused and effortless in the New York night. 

She wants to go up to him. But she's afraid. It's been a while since Nick- enough time, but she's worried. Doesn't the saying go: that you should never meet your role models? Jughead isn't a role model, but she does admire him, and she'd hate if he turned out to be a jerk. 

He groans loudly into his burrito and she decides to risk it. She skips across the street quickly, before looking up at him and clearing her throat. It's all weirdly romantic, quiet and a little stilted, intimate in such a crowded city- unusual that they've found this piece of desertion. Two lone stars, suddenly in the same patch of sky. "Hi," she murmurs, not willing to disturb the quiet too much.

He looks down at her with surprise, before his eyes widen. 

It's the perfect time for Jughead Jones. He's a night owl and after a gruelling day of training at the gym- why the Joker can't wear shirts in more scenes is beyond him- he's content to be alone and eating food. He's turned his phone off, like he does sometimes when it all gets to be too much, and he knows when he turns it on he'll have a number of missed calls from both Midge and Sabrina. Midge will understand, Sabrina on the other hand, might kill him. But he can't help it. His skin feels itchy and too tight from exposure of the recent film season. Nominations and critics have been gushing and directors are on the search- it's like something about January instils in everyone a need to really start fresh. He wants a bit of quietness, and being a night owl, he's scoured New York City for all the tiny slices of heaven; and this is one here. 

He recognises Betty Cooper instantly- even without makeup and hair extensions, he'd recognise that face. He's never met her but he knows of her, like everyone else. She's just started breaking into movies- nominated for a Golden Globe he remembers from headlines about it. For her role in American Girl. He's never seen it, but it hadn't been his genre. She's started off in modelling and then been plucked by the Hallmark Channel. She hadn't stayed there long; too talented to remain a hidden gem, but it had fuelled the nice-girl image that she embraces. She's beautiful, and he does also recognise her from perfume campaigns and her face plastered across buildings all around the city. He's seen her on magazines. He's never seen one of her films, though, or the shows she was in. Or an interview. He only knows of her. He knows what she looks like and he knows that she seems perfect, and he knows that she's beautiful. Evidently, she knows who he is. He clears his throat, swallowing his mouthful ruefully and smiling at her. "Betty Cooper," he nods, "small city." He wipes his hand on his shorts and offers it out to her, "it's great to meet you." Though he wonders why it hasn't happened sooner; they're surely running the same circles? Parties? But then again, Jughead thinks about how many people he's actually met through parties. It's not high. 

She takes it in her smaller, daintier one, flushed with the night heat. Her eyes sparkle. His voice is low and lovely like she'd thought. She's talking to _Jerry Maguire_ a small part of her whispers, and she promptly ignores it. "Jughead Jones," she ducks her head, "I'm a huge fan. Jerry Maguire was- I mean wow." 

He laughs, half nodding. It's a familiar line. "Thank you. It was fun to play. And you're nominated for a double g, right?" He smiles at her blush, and wishes he'd seen the film now. "I hope you win." 

Betty grins. "My agent sure doesn't. She keeps saying that a win this early in my career will destroy me. I'm under strict instruction not to win." 

He snorts. He can understand that, he supposes. He's getting good vibes off this girl. "Who represents you?" 

"Cheryl Blossom," Betty answers honestly, fingers playing with the straps of her backpack. Her big blue eyes keep flitting to the burrito in his hand, and he realises she was probably here to get some food. 

Jughead turns back to the shop, not content to let her disappear just yet. It's always good to have friends in Hollywood and besides, she seems nice. Which is rare for young, beautiful and successful actresses in his circle. She also has taste if she's not at one of those obscenely priced restaurants that everyone seems to want to be spotted at. "C'mon. Let me treat you to burrito. And Cheryl Blossom, hm? She's good. You know her brother practically owns Hollywood." 

The blonde follows him into the shop and watches Jughead orders her something with practised grace; informal and familiar with the owner. He clearly comes here a lot. Soon they're sitting at a tiny table, the only patrons, and eating happily. "She's great," Betty manages, wiping the grease off her chin. "I'd be lost without her. Who represents you?" It's weird, Betty thinks distantly as she asks it, that this all seems to be going so easily. They're about the same age, she supposes, and both trying to do the same thing in their lives. Maybe late night meetings are always a little eccentric and clandestine. 

"Sabrina Spellman," Jughead supplies. "Magical and terrifying." 

Cheryl matches both of those descriptions and Betty giggles into the meat. "This is really good," she admits with a sigh, smacking her lips together before realising she probably looks incredibly greedy and undesirable. She risks a look up at Jughead but he's staring at her softly; something warm in his eyes that makes her feel more confident. "But I've had better." She teases.

He tips his head back and laughs. It showcases the long line of his throat that goes down into his bare chest and then defined abs. "Oh yeah? Where?" 

"Back home," she sighs forlornly. "There was this place that did the best burgers."

Jughead whistles wistfully. "Yeah, me too actually. Pop's." His mouth salivates just thinking about it.

Betty blinks. "Pop Tate's? In Riverdale, you mean?" She watches as Jughead frowns in confusion, before nodding. Betty laughs in disbelief. "Oh my gosh- I'm- I'm from there! I mean I was born and grew up there, I went to Riverdale High-"

"Oh my god," Jughead whispers in disbelief, laughing in wonder. "I was- me too. I mean, I went to Southside and moved away when I was eighteen-"

"Me too!"

"Holy shit," he guffaws as they both reel at the connection. "That's insane. I never..." he wonders about it now, about maybe meeting Betty back in Riverdale. A Northsider, maybe, but maybe she'd have broken through the surly exterior he was always putting on like a second skin. "I never met you. This is insane." He shakes his head, leaning back in his chair. "At least we've met now." It's refreshing and exciting to be talking to someone who doesn't just cock their head curiously when he says the word  _Riverdale._ It's too small and insignificant to be well known to the masses, but now there's someone for who it means as much to as it does to him. 

Betty nods, licking her lips and blushing. It makes her feel...comfortable. Comfortable is precisely the right word. It's easy to feel adrift in this city of lights and cameras and fame. But knowing that out there, somewhere in the haze of interviews and premiers, there's another Riverdaler. Someone who went to the same shops, who drank the same milkshakes, who waited at the same stop signs- it makes her feel more at home. Less untethered. "Definitely." She agrees, thanking the world for it's tiny size. "Do you go back there often?" 

He sips at his coffee. "My dad and sister relocated to Greendale after I moved away. We used to live at Sunnyside, though. I haven't been back in a while," he lets out a puff of air, realising that he really wants to. "I should. Do you?" 

She shrugs. "Sometimes. I always want to go back more than I can." 

"Do your family still live there?" 

She pauses, and he suddenly wishes he could grab the question out of the air and cram it back into his mouth. "My parents passed away," she says delicately. "When I was seventeen. We still have the house there, but..." she swallows thickly, before brighting as though blustering through the pain of bad memories. She presents a happy face and his heart aches for her. She's selfless, he realises. She puts on a show so no one knows when she's upset. He files it away about her. "My older sister Polly lives in Riverdale, though. How old is your sister?" 

Betty watches as Jughead grins. "Jellybean is nineteen and the coolest person in the world. We're a little distant- family problems- but we try to keep close." His voice is soft and fond, and Betty knows she's struck a gem in meeting him. She doesn't want their night to be over. She doesn't want them to part ways. He seems to have the same conclusion, because after they've finished their food, he lingers near her. He refuses to let her pay, but Betty doesn't feel as though it's because he thinks she's a girl and guys should pay. It makes her feel like he thinks it's just good manners, and that he doesn't think she's incapable at all. Which she's not. She has more money than she knows what to do with, and he probably does too. "Do you want to..." he begins as they head out into the warm night. "I don't know..." he swipes his hand through his hair nervously, and Betty bites her lip at the familiar gesture. He does it in interviews all the time. He always plays with his hair when he's nervous. "I know a place that does twenty four hour cotton candy." 

She laughs in shock and amazement. "Wait, really?" 

"It's New York," he shrugs, "you can find anything." He holds his arm out to her, and without pause, she loops hers through his. They walk down lots of back alleys, and she has to watch where she treads. Hopping and jumping sometimes, from stone to stone. "Heels killing you?" He asks in amusement, watching her leap from one clear spot to another. 

She nods, trying to find her balance, before he walks over to her, and bends over. She frowns, uncertain. "What are you doing?" 

"What do you think I'm doing?" He snarks back lightly, "I'm offering you the once in a lifetime chance for a piggy back from the Jerry Maguire." 

She claps her hands in amazement, but shakes her head. "Oh, no," she laughs, "I can't. I'll be too heavy."

He looks at her over his shoulder and gives her a look. She thinks, for a moment, that he's about to comment on her figure. But he doesn't. He says; "do you think I'm not strong enough?" She appreciates it more than he'll ever know. All people ever ask her about is what she eats and how she trains, but the truth is- she eats what she likes and she goes to the gym. Movies and productions have given her trainers and insisted on certain diets but Betty's always done her best to ignore it all. Ad campaigns may air brush her thighs and give her cheekbones where she doesn't have any, but she can control her own image of herself. She eats what she likes, and she works out when she likes. It keeps her happy and more importantly- it keeps her sane. 

Partly gratitude, partly desire, has her straddling Jughead Jones' back and this is becoming one of the most surreal experiences of her life. He hooks his hands around her ankles, and she holds onto his shoulders, leaning forward to rest her head there comfortably. She watches for signs that she's too heavy, but he continues chatting easily enough. Well, she supposes, muscles like that don't come from nowhere, and they don't stay without benefit.

He, meanwhile, breathes in the smell of her shampoo and feels blissfully happy with her in his arms. It's a lot of physical contact for someone he's just met, but he doesn't dislike it like he normally does. He likes being able to feel her breath and he likes knowing he's helping her. It's dangerous, the connection, how fast and how strong he feels it- he's surely being set up to get crushed, but he decides for tonight, to suspend disbelief. Happiness and romance can happen on a night like this, and even if it can't, friendships are welcome. "So, Betty Cooper," he asks, "actor name or real name?"

He can feel her smile against his neck. "Real name," she answers softly, and he's glad for it. It suits her. "What about you?"

"Actor name, but it's what everyone calls me now."

"What's your real name?"

"It's terrible."

She's excited now, eager and curious. "Oh come on," she insists, tugging on his hair lightly in reprove. "Tell me! Tell me, tell me, tell me-"

He leans dangerously to the right so she sways and she squawks, holding onto him tighter as he laughs. "Alright, alright," he relents with a put upon sigh as they turn onto an open street without any cars and a lot of closed shops. There's a vendor in the distance, and the smell of spun sugar in the air. "You have to swear not to tell anyone,"

"It's going to be on your Wikipedia page," she reminds him, "I could just google you."

"Please," he teases, "I'll hire someone to delete all trace of it. I'm..." he lets an imaginary drum roll introduce it. "Forsythe Pendleton Jones...the third."

She's silent for a moment, before she's laughing uncontrollably. He lets her have it, because her laugh is lovely. Soon they come to the stand, and Jughead greets the Vendor; Pakistani and lovely, and she hands over the cotton candy before Jughead even has to ask for it. Pink and blue. Jughead takes the pink one, and Betty slides off his back, plucking the blue one out of his hands and taking a bite. They walk down the street together for a while, under the suffusive glow of street lamps, picking at their candy and talking about anything and everything. Betty eventually demands one of his flip flips as recompense of being fair, and after that, they both limp unevenly for a while, stopping to lean against buildings or twirl about lampposts, high on sugar and each other.

It's nearly five am when it stops being dark and starts being light. They're in an area of the city she only faintly recognises, and in the distance, the sound of cars staring is getting louder. The city is beginning to awaken. She turns to look up at Jughead, who's looking down at her, pupils blown and so handsome despite the dark circles under his eyes. She's sure she has matching ones. A part of her tells her not to kiss him, even as he's leaning in. That part wants to be sensible and not get hurt again. The other part knows that she has to kiss him. She has to because her heart yearns for it.

His lips press against hers. She's soft and a little sticky from residual cotton candy and her arms wrap around his neck. He's exhausted but he thinks he would gladly go without sleep if it meant this level of heaven again. One hand he keeps on her waist; respectful and polite. The way he's supposed to have his hand on the waist of a costar so long as he won't be touching skin. But his other hand, whilst he wants to caress her face; her arms on his shoulders and her fingers in his hair prevent that, so he slides his hand down those sinful overalls. For a fashion model, she sure has her own style, and he loves it. He slides his hands down it and into the back pocket over the denim, feeling like the boyfriend of a main character in an 80s movie. And he should know. He's been in movies just like that. He squeezes once, just to be cheeky, and she bites his lip in playful retaliation.

The loud clicking of an iPhone camera pulls them away from each other. Betty looks around, and her eyes land on a girl- maybe sixteen, looking at them with wide, amazed eyes. She's also looking very embarrassed, obviously forgetting the sound was on. Betty wants to be irritated and then go and see Cheryl, but one look at Jughead tells her that she has to be more serious about it than that. He looks like he's been punched in the gut- petrified and regretful, and Betty doesn't know why, but he clearly wants this to be private, so she squeezes his arm comfortingly, before approaching the girl. "Hi," Betty greets slowly, not wanting to girl to run away. "Hey, you've got a picture of us, right?"

The girl nods, looking humiliated and still awe-struck.

"I don't suppose..." Betty winces, knowing she holds none of the cards. "I don't suppose you'd delete it? Please?"

The girl looks between Betty and then over Betty's shoulder at Jughead. She seems to weigh something in her mind, before she hands her phone over to Betty. Betty immediately deletes it, and then deletes it from the deleted album. It's a nice photo, she thinks as it disappears. Intimate and sexual, but clearly love-struck. "I'm sorry," the girl offers, abashed and small. "I just- I didn't know you two were dating. You make a very cute couple." 

Betty hands her back the phone and smiles. "Thank you very much for letting me delete them," she says, choosing not to respond. "You've saved us both, and given us some privacy. It means a lot."

The girl blushes, happy to have the compliment, before she scurries away. 

When Betty get's back to Jughead, he's staring at her reverently. She smooths the hair out of his forehead, and edges them away from the road. "It's okay," she soothes, knowing what he must be feeling. "It's gone. No one knows."

He presses his forehead against hers with pure relief on his face and Betty has the painful feeling that maybe he's seeing someone, or maybe he doesn't want things with her to be known because he's embarrassed. She knows he dated Katy Keene and maybe he prefers older women, or maybe they still have something- but he says- "DC have me on this contract not to be seen with anyone," he breathes, breath fanning onto her face. "I'm their newest Joker and they want to avoid any publicity stunts and I just- I'm sorry. It's not about you, it's about contracts."

She understands completely, and she feels a smile spread across her face at knowing that it's just business. "The Joker, huh?" She hums, biting her lip and looking him over. "I see it." 

He grabs her hand, and knows he never wants her to leave. "Betty, I..."

Her heart jumps in place, and she nods. "Same time again tomorrow night?" She insists, and the relief on his face is all the answer she needs. 

Who needs sleep anyway? 

...

...

...

Betty rents an apartment in upper New York from Geraldine Grundy- celebrity chef and television personality. A lot of actors and actresses rent from her, it appears that she not only cooks steak but also stirs up rental agreements. There's something about doing business with someone in the business that's very agreeable. Betty likes her apartment, anyhow. It looks out onto water and though the kitchen is a little small, her cat Marmalade curls in front of the fireplace and she gets the most beautiful view of the boats at night. 

A woman named Vanessa- from Poland with a stunning jaw line and a no-nonsense look is finishing up Betty's makeup. Betty watches herself in the mirror, the entire outfit's been planned by Cheryl's top designer and she wonders whether anyone would really dress this way for a day at home alone. It's a pink, satin summer dress. Tight around the bodice but flouncy around her knees. Modest and yet still somehow sexy. They've braided her hair into what is supposed to be a messy side braid but clearly comes across as immaculate planning. To Betty anyway. To her relief, the make up is light and tasteful and she gets to wear flats. But if she were really going to be spending a day home alone, she'd have spent it in pyjamas, with her cat, a tub of Nutella and old horror movies. Her hair would be a tangled, ratty mess and she'd be wearing her fluffiest socks. 

"I'm going to be right here," Cheryl says, and Betty smiles. "And I said  _shut the fuck up._ She's not going to do that." Betty winces, but knows that Cheryl's probably talking into the expensive earpiece that seems attached to the side of her head as she takes calls. She can multitask like nobody's business. It's amazing how she can go from consoling to cutthroat so quickly. As Vanessa pulls away, ignoring Betty's quiet thank you, she sits on her sofa and lets the cameras all get set up. It's a dior interview, and she's seen a few of them on youtube. Always stylish, tasteful and making the celebrity look good, so she's not too nervous. It's supposed to be an insight on her but she also knows she's supposed to help plug season 2 of the netflix show she was in:  _Scream._ It's odd though. She finished shooting over a year ago now, and she hadn't even been a main character. But post-production editing and advertising, she supposes, take a long while. "They say anything you don't like, I'll pull the plug," Cheryl insists, moving to stand behind the camera and apparently talking to her now. 

Betty nods, smiling warmly at the interviewer. He's essentially another nameless face, but Betty wishes time would let them get to know one another. He's got square glasses and a kind smile and a notepad. She'd spoken to Blake Lively who had done the interview last week and been assured that everything would be fine. She still get's a little nervous though. "Okay," he says, "I think we're just about ready?"

Betty looks around at the cameras in her home, at the camera man, the microphone guy and Cheryl. Marmalade seems to sense the tension and hops up onto the sofa to curl up beside her. Betty starts petting him with relief, and nods. 

He doesn't introduce her, she's seen the videos so she knows she'll get introduced by calligraphic text over a shot of her home. "So, Betty Cooper, is that your cat?"

She resits the urge to laugh at the absurd question. "Yes," she nods, remembering to smile, smile always. "This is Marmalade and he is precious. I got him from a shelter when I first moved to New York." 

"He is adorable. What can you tell us about Scream?"

And the interview continues. They ask about her other projects, about how it felt to win the Golden Globe (it had felt pretty damn good and hadn't destroyed her career as Cheryl feared it might have). It's normal, it's nice. She makes a few jokes, she laughs, and is aware of Cheryl's approving gaze from behind the camera. It's all going very well, very normally, until near the end. 

"And now, I know there have been a lot of questions about this and I don't want to intrude, but..." his voice takes on an excited lilt. "Are you dating Jughead Jones?" The exclusive, of course, would definitely be worth a promotion.

Cheryl doesn't react, and Betty knows it's because Cheryl had expected this. Cheryl's already prepped her on this. It still makes Betty's heart thump to hear his name. They've been seeing each other in secret for about four months, but a few photos have arisen in the last few days. Neither of them had made comment but Cheryl had asked and Betty had confessed. She and Jughead have talked about- hidden away in hotel rooms and lying in bed with KFC, switching between making love and playing on their ds's. It's a secret, for now. A part of Betty wants to shout it to all of the world, and the other part of her, is happy to keep it a secret for a while longer. Cheryl slides her phone into the pocket of her white and black chequered pants and watches Betty expectantly, as does the interviewer. 

Betty smiles, and Cheryl smirks. She looks gorgeous; timeless, elegant and charming. "Jug and I met a few months ago," Betty begins, "we're not dating, but we are really good friends. We both grew up in Riverdale and it's amazing to have this bond with someone. Hollywood can be a very scary place when you don't know anyone, or have any real friends. Jughead is a really great guy." Cheryl nods victoriously. A denial, but not a complete squashing. Enough to keep people's attention. No one will believer her, of course, but nothing can be confirmed unless a picture of them kissing leaks. 

After everyone's packed up, Cheryl has a thousand and one things to do, and pecks Betty's cheek. Soon, she's alone in the house with Marmalade, and she feels a huge weight off her shoulders. They haven't taken the dress back so she assumes this absurdly expensive piece of satin is hers to keep. She slumps onto the sofa in it, wondering whether she has to energy to bake some cupcakes or if she should just order some takeaway, when her phone pings.

She checks it curiously. It's from Cheryl.  **Didn't show this to you before the interview in case you fucked it up, but here's a part of Jughead's video. Released yesterday.** And a link. 

Betty clicks on it with her heart in her throat. She's never been to Jughead's house, so she closes the link and just searches for the whole video. She tucks her feet under her body, and holds her phone tightly.  _Jughead Jones for dior_ flashes across the screen and she gets to see a small, stylish but rustic cottage somewhere near the Hudson if she's reading the skyline correctly. She recognises it and realises with a laugh that he too is renting from Grundy. It changes to him next to his dog, on his sofa. He's sitting with one leg under him and his hair is black but tinged ever so slightly here and there green. He plays with it throughout the video and she bites her lip fondly. She wonders if he was as trussed up as she was. She thinks he probably was. Though he looks stunning in the blue sweater and black jeans, it isn't his style. 

She's met Hot Dog once or twice when Jughead brought him out for secret walks with them, but she wishes she could just go to his house and be there with him. It'll be a definite benefit of everyone knowing. She watches the interview, as he teases about the new DC movies and being part of that universe. He's articulate and funny, and a little eccentric. Underneath it all, she can still see the flip-flop wearing, burrito-eating charmer she met all those nights ago. 

And then the question comes. 

" _So, Jughead. Are the rumours true? Are you dating Betty Cooper?"_

She holds her breath, and watches as he ducks his head and smiles, swiping his hand through his hair. " _No, sadly not,"_ he laughs, shaking his head ruefully.  _"She's beautiful and talented, but we're just friends. We met by chance and she was obviously a huge fan,"_ he teases sarcastically. Self-deprecating. Betty wonders if he knows how much he's given away. Not through his words, but at the way his face has lit up and his entire body seems more relaxed. She's probably the only person who knows him well enough to notice, and she loves that more than she can admit.  _"She's amazing, a real rarity in Hollywood, you know? Down to earth and grounded when she could be the complete opposite."_

_"You both grew up in Riverdale, is that right? Did you know each other?"_

He shakes his head again, another private smile. " _No. I wish we had_ _though. She's a wonderful friend."_

Her cheeks are in flames and she texts him.  **I'm a wonderful friend?** She kids, and he buzzes back instantly. 

**There's a syllable missing and you know it. Girl.**

Her heart soars and skips and jumps and she hugs a pillow to her chest to release some of her energy.  **I love you** she writes, hoping it conveys everything she wants it to.

**Betty Cooper, I love you.**

She lets out an impassioned air and relaxes boneless into the sofa. If the press ever got hold of her phone they'd have a field day. Some day, she's certain, everyone will know how much they love each other. 

But for now, it's just between them, and that's pretty perfect too. 

**Author's Note:**

> I think I'd love to do more in this universe if you guys have any ideas? I'm begging you! 
> 
> mwah mwah x


End file.
